I roll my eyes, hating how logical his reasoning sounds when all I want is a little liquid oblivion.
“What’s this?” JT asks as he bends to retrieve the white paper from the ground.
“The straw.” I put my bag in the room he indicates is his.
“The straw?” He arches a brow.
“That broke this camel’s back.” I point to myself.
Why is it when I was first faced with the gift bag and its contents, I felt like running around like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone when he discovers everyone is gone, but in JT’s presence I can instantly fall into joking about it?
He opens the note, and I watch as he reads it. He runs a hand down his face when he’s done, blowing out a deep breath. “Damn. Respect.”
I huff and cross my arms. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours.” He steps around me and heads for the fridge, retrieving two bottles of Patrón Silver, a bag of limes, shot glasses, and a salt shaker then places them on the counter. “Always.”
“Okay.” I take the chilled bottle from him and clutch it to my chest lovingly. Salvation.
“Ian!” JT shouts down the hall and pulls out a chair at the small four-top table between the kitchen and the living room.
“What’s up, man?” Ian’s face is focused on his phone so he doesn’t see me when he walks out of his bedroom. When he finally does look up, he smiles the instant he spots me. “PF.” He rushes me and picks me up into a hug, a common greeting thanks to my short stature.
“Hey Ian.” I take a seat at the table.
“Did you know she was coming?” he asks JT, pulling out the chair to my right.
“Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything until I could talk to the whole squad.” Pain-filled whiskey eyes meet my grays. I hate that he’s still beating himself up over how my identity was outed. “PF being here needs to stay on the DL as much as possible.”
“Got it.” Ian rubs his hands together gleefully. “So…tequila?” I nod. “Sweet.” He smiles then calls out to Harry where he sits on the couch. “You in, Your Highness?”
“Shut up you wanker,” Harry retorts, claiming the last seat at the table. “I had to be named after the prince,” he grumbles.
“I guess it could be worse. You could be named William.” I try to offer some comfort.
“True. My brother does get it worse than me.”
“Wait…” I make the timeout gesture with my hands. “Your brother is really named William?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Oh man,” I say with a laugh.
“Mum and Dad just had to move us to America.” He gives me a wink. “At least I’m not a ginger like your mate here.”
I don’t know about you—*nudges my side*—but I think he’s even more charming in person, and I could listen to him talk all day.
JT gives him a scowl, but I reach out and fluff his thick red locks. “To be fair, he’s not as much of a ginger as the prince. His hair is a few shades darker.”
My defense gets the first genuine smile from my bestie, and the tension he seems to have in his shoulders lessens. I hate that he feels he has to stay on alert in case I lose it. It’s one of the many things that make him such an exceptional friend, and because of it, I’m comfortable enough to let go and be the PF he refers to as my true self.
“Alright, we need some tunes,” Ian declares, and Jason Aldean’s voice comes through the speakers. Born and raised in Kentucky, he’s a country boy through and through. With his black hair and matching black eyes, he is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Beside Rei, JT’s flyer, he’s probably the person I know best from the squad.
“Alright, ladies.” I clap my hands. “Enough chitchat. It’s time to drink.”
“She’s feisty. I like her,” Harry says.
I pour out four shots and distribute them, each topped with a slice of lime. Lick my hand between my left thumb and pointer finger and shake salt onto the spot. Holding up my glass, I toast the guys, lick the salt, and toss back the shot, feeling the warm burn down my throat. I suck the juice from the lime slice and grin around the fruit.
It’s going to take more than one shot to get me to the mind-numbing level I seek, but it’s a start.
I pour out and down a second one before any of the guys have finished their first.
“Damn, Spence is gonna be mad he missed this,” Harry comments as he grabs the Patrón to refill his glass.
The guys talk about their missing roommate’s plan while I slide the bottle over from Harry and toss another shot down the hatch. Swallowing down the tangy juice, I keep the lime pinched between my teeth and confess, “I slapped him.”
Three sets of startled and confused eyes blink at me from around the table before Ian asks, “Spencer?”
I laugh around the fruit in my mouth, finally removing it with a shake of my head. “No. Mason.”
“Like a playful ‘oh you’re so silly you big hot football player you’ type smack?” JT asks, doing his best airhead impression.
“That voice you just did”—I circle a finger in front of his smirking face—“better not have been intended to be me.”
He gives me an eyebrow waggle, both brows bouncing up and down on his forehead like he’s a freaking cartoon character. I meet it with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Keep being a smartass, James”—I take immense pleasure in the scowl his full name pulls from him—“and I’ll be more than happy to give you a demonstration.” I wiggle the fingers of my right hand.
“And what, pray tell”—JT rests his elbow on the table and props
